Review: 'Amour' elegant to the inevitable end

French drama ‘Amour’ a simple, honest portrayal of an elderly twosome facing life’s final milestone

This image released by Sony Pictures Classics shows Emmanuelle Riva in a scene from "Amour." Riva was nominated for an Academy Award for best actress on Thursday, Jan. 10, 2013, for her role in “Amour .“ The 85th Academy Awards will air live on Sunday, Feb. 24, 2013 on ABC. (AP Photo/Sony Pictures Classics)
— AP

This image released by Sony Pictures Classics shows Emmanuelle Riva in a scene from "Amour." Riva was nominated for an Academy Award for best actress on Thursday, Jan. 10, 2013, for her role in “Amour .“ The 85th Academy Awards will air live on Sunday, Feb. 24, 2013 on ABC. (AP Photo/Sony Pictures Classics)
/ AP

“Amour”

Rating: PG-13

When: Opens Friday

Where: Landmark La Jolla Village

Running time: 2 hours, 7 minutes

★★★★

A good director can craft a worthwhile story using a range of filmmaking tools and tricks. A truly masterful one knows when to get out of the way and let the story tell itself. Michael Haneke proves himself to be the latter with “Amour,” a peaceful yet devastating observation of an elderly husband caring for his ailing wife that is sparse in style, yet rich in unspoken complexity.

There’s a sense of detachment to Haneke’s portrayal of the French couple at the center of the film, Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) and Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant). His camera remains static as it watches them go about life in their casually elegant Paris apartment, with no accompanying score other than the shuffling of feet along the wood floors or the occasional classical music coming from the home stereo. Haneke has us passively watch as Anne’s health, mind and spirit begin to fade after a series of small strokes, and her husband becomes her caretaker.

But Haneke’s distance doesn’t push us away. Rather, it’s illustrative of the intense connectedness between the long-married couple, an ingrained, unspoken bond that even their adult daughter (Isabelle Huppert) can’t penetrate. Not much needs to be said between them for Georges to understand his wife’s frustration and shame over her deteriorating condition. He doesn’t need to make a speech to show his feelings of powerlessness or fierce desire to protect her from the pitying looks of well-wishers or the histrionics of their daughter. As outsiders, we’ll never be able to fully understand the depths of this bond, and Haneke knows not to try, instead letting the subtle exchanges of tenderness and pain between the couple burrow into our hearts.

While senior citizens in American film and TV are typically marginalized or relegated to comedy relief, Haneke treats Georges and Anne with absolute respect, never pandering to sentiment or cliché and most assuredly not sugarcoating the experience of walking one’s partner through suffering, toward death. When Anne needs to be moved from her wheelchair, Georges slowly lifts her to standing, then we watch the two clench each other, lurching with each strained step, as if engaged in some sort of deathly dance. The intimacy between the two is palpable, as is their awareness that this story only has one inevitable ending.

Stripped bare stylistically, the film relies entirely upon the honest, tender performances given by its octogenarian leads, French film stars Emmanuelle Rivas and Jean-Louis Trintignant. Their situation is bleak, but the spark of love between them is never far from view, conveyed by the simplest and most natural gestures or expressions. Even from within her partially paralyzed body and seriously impaired speech, Rivas never lets go of Anne’s humanity, creating a character that’s just as liable to burst out in anger as she is to flirtatiously giggle, while Georges fluctuates from desperate to determined.

As unobtrusive observers, we have a more holistic view of Georges and Anne’s experience, but those personally connected to the couple — their daughter, part-time nurses, a former music student — are able to respond only through their own fear and discomfort. They offer awkward sentiments and platitudes, and stumble over what to say in the face of death. They may mean well, but none come close to connecting with what the couple is going through. It’s no wonder then that Georges and Anne cocoon themselves inside their home to endure the excruciating process away from the nervous eyes of well-wishers.

In the end, of course, we all must die alone. Haneke doesn’t shy away from that cold fact, but he also shows us how the selflessness and bravery of love can give us the will to lead our loved one to death’s front door.